


Night Terror

by AnaliseGrey



Series: Along the Way Adjacent [7]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Anti-Tiefling Sentiment, Bren Aldric Ermendrud - Freeform, Bren is A Lot, Canon-Typical Violence, Dehumanization, Dehydration, Dreams and Nightmares, Fantasy Racism, Ikithon is his own warning, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Night Hag, Night Terrors, Starvation, caleb's backstory, straightjacket
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-23 19:48:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19157779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnaliseGrey/pseuds/AnaliseGrey
Summary: When we all fall asleep, where do we go?





	Night Terror

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place between pieces 3 and 4 of the regular Along the Way series.
> 
> Bren is A Lot, so please be mindful of the tags.

_The hallway leading to Trent’s office is quiet._

_After dinner, unless they’re doing something specific, they’re left to their own devices, either to study or to follow their own interests, as long as they have Trent’s blessing, of course._

_Today, Trent’s requested Bren join him in his study an hour after dinner for help with a ‘special project’, and he’s only too happy to agree._

_The carpet softens his steps, but he’s barely raised his hand to knock before Trent’s voice carries through the closed door._

_“Enter, Bren, we have a lot of work ahead of us.”_

_He opens the door and steps through, and finds most of the furniture has been moved back towards the walls, opening a space in the middle of the room. In the space in the middle is a table with a figure strapped to it, but he can’t see it clearly just yet. Before he can take a closer look, Trent steps in front of him, smiling._

_“Hello, dear boy. I’ve been having some difficulty with a project, and thought maybe you could lend your touch to it. I’m having some trouble cracking it, but I think maybe you might have a bit more luck. It’s something of a specialty of yours, after all.”_

_Bren’s spine straightens with pride, and offers a small smile back._

_“Of course, sir, whatever you require. I will be happy to help.”_

_Trent pats Bren’s shoulder. “There’s a good lad. If you’ll just come this way, then, I can introduce you to the problem.”_

_Next to the table with the figure is a smaller rolling tray; Bren’s seen them before,_ used _them before, many times, and the contents on top aren’t much different than what he’s used to seeing and handling. An array of implements, some sharp, some not- scalpels in a variety of sizes, pliers, needles, hammers- all tools of the trade. Some of them are bloodied already, a testament to Trent’s prior attempts, but if he’s learned anything under Trent, it’s that it’s important to take a moment when possible to evaluate the situation thoroughly, to make sure you know what you’re dealing with. Most problems of this sort arise from a lack of knowledge, a key piece of information that will unlock the way forward._

_“I’m going to give you a few minutes alone, let you assess. I’ll be back. Take your time, be thorough, see what you can do.” Trent claps Bren on the shoulder again, then with a nod exits the room, closing the door behind him._

_Bren closes his eyes, takes a slow deep breath, inhaling the scent of blood on the air, lets it out and takes in what he can already._

_The breathing from the table next to him is ragged, pained, further proof that Trent’s already been at work here. There’s no hitched breathing to indicate tears, but that’s alright; sometimes it’s better to start from a place of calmer emotion and build up._

_He opens his eyes and turns to get his first proper look at the figure on the table._

_It’s a tiefling, of a striking shade of purple. It’s unusual to see tieflings with such coloration, but not unheard of. It makes Bren wonder after the creature’s heritage, if there’s anything special hidden in there; perhaps he’ll have the chance to open him up and find out. He supposes it depends how stubborn the tiefling is._

_Colorful tattoos crawl along their skin, from their face, down their neck, over their shoulder and part of their chest, thin silvered scars picking up where the ink leaves off. They’re leanly muscled, but not starvation thin- built more for speed than strength, Bren thinks. He’ll have to check their hands later for calluses, see if there’s any indication of a martial lifestyle. With such creatures there’s always a chance; they’re hardly suited for more civilized lives._

_They’re watching him, eyes wide and scared, and Bren doesn’t find that surprising. It must be rather intimidating to be strapped down to a table in someone’s study, and if the bruising and cuts that litter the tiefling’s body are any indication, he’s already had a taste of what to expect in the coming hours._

_He looks back and lets his hand hover over the cart, considering, before plucking one of the smaller scalpels off the tray, admiring the glint of the candle light off the sharply-honed edge before moving closer. He doesn’t intend to use it, not right away, but the creature on the table doesn’t know that._

_“So.” Bren keeps his voice soft, gentle; there’s no reason to start rough. It’s a lesson Wulf has yet to grasp fully, but Bren finds it gets better results than immediately jumping to violence. The harsher measures will always be there if necessary. “I hear you are causing some difficulty for Herr Ikithon. You are not in the best of situations, friend, I’ll admit. Though if you were to tell me just_ one _thing that he wishes to know, I could perhaps persuade him to let you rest, if just for the evening. I’m sure that would be nice, ja? Not to be on this table anymore? Perhaps get you cleaned up, some bandages, something to eat. How does that sound?”_

_The creature starts shaking the moment he speaks, and it’s with surprise that Bren realizes they aren’t looking at the scalpel as he expected, but up at_ him _, at his face, with recognition and something akin to horror._

_“Please-”_

_“I’m afraid begging isn’t going to do you much good, though I do understand the inclination. I won’t hold it against you.”_

_“Caleb,_ please  _don’t do this.”_

_The name hits, the creature waiting for some sort of reaction, but it’s not a name Bren knows._

_“I am afraid we each have our part to play in this. I know what mine is, but it’s alright if we don’t know yours yet, Mauschen. I will help you find it.”_

_A pained expression, a combination of fear and sorrow slides across the creature’s face, and Bren smiles. This he knows. This he’s familiar with. He puts the odd plea from the tiefling from his mind, and holds up the scalpel, his smile widening._

_“Shall we begin?”_

Caleb shoots up from his bed roll, struggling against the blankets, and just makes it to the grass at the edge of the clearing before he loses everything he’d eaten for dinner. The sweat cools on his skin, leaving him chilled and shaking as he tries, and fails, to get himself back under control.

He doesn’t sleep the rest of the night.

The next morning arrives, the sunlight burning through the last of the fog as it warms the air. Everyone is beginning to wake up, including Jester and Nott who were supposed to have been on watch, but Caleb figures he was awake anyway, so it’s alright. The sun finishes rising, but for as much as it brings warmth with it, Caleb doesn’t quite seem to feel it. He tugs his coat a little closer around himself, sensing it’s going to be a long day.

He passes on breakfast, stomach still uneasy, and he can’t bring himself to look at Molly for more than a few seconds at a time without it threatening to rebel. Every time he looks at Molly all he sees is blood, and gods know he’s seen Molly look that way before, given how he fights. It’s never been at _his_ hands, though. Caleb keeps rubbing his palm against his pants, trying to rid himself of the feel of the scalpel handle, the tug and pull of it sliding through skin, and he has to close his eyes against the visceral memory.

_It didn’t happen_ , he tells himself, _it wasn’t real, just a dream_.

It’s a little easier to believe it in the light of day, but the dream weighs on him, feels as if it’s pulling him down, making his limbs heavy and movements slow.

Nott asks him if he’s alright, and he gives a weary smile, shaking his head.

“Bad night is all. I fear I am not at my best today. But I will try to rest in the cart while we move, and hopefully tonight will be better.”

Nott frowns, but nods; it’s not the first time he’s slept poorly and woken up feeling more tired than when he went to sleep. He knows it won’t be the last, either, but it is what it is.

The group finishes eating and prepares to move on, packing into the cart, and Caleb climbs up, intending to rest, but every time he closes his eyes he sees Molly on the table, sees what he did to him, what _Bren_ did to him, and after an hour gives up.

He spends the day reading, which helps take his mind off things, but every once in awhile he’ll catch a worried look from Nott out of the corner of his eye. He smiles at her, trying to ease her worry. One bad night of sleep is not a problem. It’s unfortunate, and the dream was deeply unnerving, but that’s all it was- a dream. He’s survived worse and come out fine, for a certain value of ‘fine’.

The rest of the day passes, and they stop to make camp for the night, pulling off the road to a small copse of trees. There isn’t a clearing like the night before, but they’re able to find a clear-enough spot for fire pit. Their bedding has to be spread out around and between the trees, but that’s alright. He teases Nott and Jester, asking they try to stay awake this time, and while Nott flushes, she also smiles back. If he’s teasing her, he can’t be so badly off.

He sets up his silver thread before they sleep, though it takes more concentration than usual. He gets it set, and when he finishes and lowers his arms, it’s with a sense of relief. He gets to his bedroll and gratefully falls into it, pulling the blankets up to his chin and getting as comfortable as possible.

“G’night, Caleb!”

Nott’s waving from where she’s settling by the fire with Jester for first watch again, and he smiles and raises a hand in a small wave before settling back to his bedding. The tree he’s up against will block part of the fire light; maybe it will help him sleep a little easier.

 

_As often as he visits the cells, he doesn’t think he’ll ever really get used to them. When he, Astrid, and Eodwulf had first arrived at the estate, he remembers being shocked to discover their existence under the main house, intensely mindful that below them- below where they slept, where they ate and learned and trained- were cells._

_They were always dark, always damp and cold with the chill of being underground, even in mid-summer, and while Bren understands their necessity, he can never quite help a shiver when he has to venture down, knowing what it’s like to be trapped there. Trent had made each of them spend time down there alone, so they would best understand what was going on with their subjects. Bren knows he only spent two days here, but he also understands that if he didn’t have the time sense he does, it would have seemed much longer, almost interminable. He had fared better through the experience than either of the other two, but he knows that was only by dint of his knowing how much time was actually passing in the dark. He shudders to think what it must be like to be trapped in the dark and damp with no idea how much time is passing, how much is left to go, whether he’d ever see the light of day again._

_That’s the power of the cells. That’s how they work, how they achieve results._

_At the moment, there’s only one occupant, and as he makes his way down the short corridor he does his best to keep his steps silent, to give no indication of his presence. It’s pitch dark, his eyes unable to see anything, but he’s been here before with light and he remembers, remembers the layout and is careful not to bump into anything._

_He approaches the third cell on the right, at the end of the row, and comes to a stop just before he’d clear visual on the bars. He can’t see in the dark, but the cell’s occupant can, and he wants the chance to listen before making his presence known._

_As he does, there’s the quiet sound of whimpering, with the occasional hushed whisper, though it’s too low for Bren to understand the actual words. He catches the sound of movement, the scrape of metal over stone as the person inside moves._

_He waits, counting off minutes in his head-_ eins zwei drei- _and just before vier lifts a hand and closes his eyes, summoning his lights._

_There’s a startled cry from inside the cell, the sound of a body hitting the floor. Bren gives himself a moment for his eyes to adjust then opens them, moving the last few steps to gaze through the bars._

_The tiefling is on the floor, weakly trying to sit up, but it’s difficult without the use of his hands. When Astrid had come down after the first forty-eight hours, she’d found him clawing at himself, at the walls, and that was no good. The straightjacket had gone on to prevent the creature from harming himself, and in the time since it’s done it’s job handily._

_“Hallo, Mauschen.” Bren unlocks the door while the tiefling is still blinking, trying to adjust to the sudden light. He slips the key back into his pocket and moves through the doorway while the creature tries to scramble back, away from him, but there’s no place to go. Bren quickly catches him, getting a grip on one of the jacket sleeves and hauling him back. Bren isn’t very strong, certainly no match for someone like Eodwulf, but this creature is in no shape to fight back. Between the restraints and the lack of appropriate food and water, Bren is much better situated to controlling the situation._

_Releasing the jacket’s sleeve, he reaches up to the creature’s jaw, getting a firm grip to turn the thing’s head side to side; the scratches there are healing nicely. If he lives long enough for it to matter, they might not even scar._

_The creature makes a sound, half between a word and a croak, trying to push words out, but his throat is so dry he ends up coughing instead, curling in on himself as much as the straightjacket and Bren’s grip will allow._

_Bren tuts, steadying him._

_“We have been over this, Mauschen. We cannot reward you for bad behavior. But we_ will _reward you for good behavior.” Bren smiles at him, knowing how it softens his features, and reaches out to brush a tangle of greasy hair back from the tiefling’s face. “Don’t you want to be good for me, schatz?”_

_The tiefling shudders, his eyes scrunching shut against the light touch of Bren’s hand on his face, and shakes his head. Bren thinks there’d be tears he was hydrated enough for it._

_“Oh, but why not? You already know what being bad will get you, ja?” Bren shifts around and sits next to the tiefling, his back against the cell wall, his arm over the tiefling’s shoulders, tugging him close, and he feels the creature’s body stiffen against his. “Think of how nice it would be. You wouldn’t be stuck down here, for one. I’d get you something to drink, and wouldn’t that be refreshing? Some cool water, perhaps. Imagine how lovely that would feel, cold and clear, you must be parched right now.” He reaches up with his free hand and rubs his thumb over the tiefling’s lips. They’re dry and cracked, and the poor thing must feel like he’s dying, but Bren knows better. He knows how long the tiefling can actually go without water and live. He still has a little while yet before it’s dire, and Bren doesn’t intend to let it go that long._

_He pulls his hand back, leans back flush with the wall. “It would feel so wet, wouldn’t it, Mauschen? So different than your throat feels now, I think, ja? And of course we’d feed you. You might even get a pallet to sleep on if you’re especially good, what do you think of that?”_

_The creature is trying to speak again, must have found a hidden reserve of strength somewhere, because they’re getting actual words out now, though they’re whisper-quiet._

_“Caleb- Caleb_ please _, you have to listen, you have to-” He breaks down into a coughing fit again, and Bren hushes him, rubbing circles on the tiefling’s back through the straightjacket._

_“We have been over this as well, Mauschen. If you call me that, that is not good behavior, is it?”_

_The tiefling shakes against him, gasping, and ah, there it is. There are no tears to shed, but the creature is crying, gasping pleas between ragged breaths, and Bren can feel the thing’s arms tensing in the confines of the jacket, pulling, tugging, trying to get free._

_“Please...please, you have to- I don’t know how to make you_ see- _”_

_Bren gives one last pat to the tiefling’s back, then rises, dusting his trousers off before stepping away._

_“I see you are not ready to be good yet, but that is alright, Mauschen, I am patient.” He moves through the cell door, closing it behind himself and relocking it. As the lock thunks into place, the tiefling gives an anguished cry, struggles up to his knees, then his feet, and Bren would be impressed if it weren’t so sad._

_“_ No! _No, don’t leave me here, Caleb, I’m begging you- fuck, just...not in the dark, not again,_ please _not again-”_

_“I will return in another day or so. We will try again.”_

_He turns on his heel and leaves back down the corridor, the sounds of the tiefling’s cries following him out._

 

Caleb wakes with the sound of Molly’s screams in his ears and for a moment that’s all he can hear aside from the hammer of his pulse. For the briefest of seconds he thinks he’s still there, still at the estate, but then he looks around and remembers- the Mighty Nein, camping in the copse of trees for the night. He can see the flicker of firelight off to the side around the edge of the tree his bedroll is up against, hears the quiet murmur of voices from whoever’s on watch by now. He sits up, leans back against the tree and scrubs his hands over his face, trying to calm his racing pulse, to breathe normally. It takes him a few minutes, and he calms, but he’s still shaken, still uneasy.

Glancing around, his eyes fall on Molly, sleeping peacefully and wrapped up in his blankets. Caleb watches the gentle rise and fall of his chest, looks closely at Molly’s face for any sign of distress, but finds nothing; he appears fine.

Caleb sighs, reaching up to tug at his hair. This is not great. He’s exhausted, but he knows himself pretty well by now, and knows sleep is unlikely after a dream like that.

Another night wasted.

He gets up, tossing his blankets aside and groans quietly at how his body aches. Sleeping on the ground has been difficult the last evening or so, and being so tired certainly isn’t helping. He stumbles around the tree, making for the campfire, and finds Beau and Fjord quietly chatting; second watch, then.

He finishes buckling on his book holsters, then wordlessly heads over and drops down next to Beau. She and Fjord pause in their conversation, and when she looks at him, she grimaces.

“Dude, you okay? You kind of look like shit.”

“Bad dreams. I will be fine.”

Beau and Fjord share a look.

“I mean, not to doubt you, Caleb, but she’s right. You’re lookin’ a bit rough.”

“I will admit I do not feel my best.” He rubs his hands together, trying to work some of the ache out of the joints of his fingers. “I did not sleep well last night either, but I will be alright. I won’t let it affect the group.”

Fjord winces and Beau rolls her eyes.

“Asshole, we’re concerned about _you_ , not just about how it’ll affect the group.”

From the other side of Beau, he hears Fjord mutter, “Smooth. Well-done.”

Beau turns to ask Fjord what _that_ means, and Caleb takes the momentary distraction to pull one of his books out and start reading.

He reads through the rest of second watch, and all of third, sitting quietly and trying not to look over at Molly where he’s stitching loose seams on his coat back together. Molly’s humming something quietly to himself as he stitches, the tip of his tail flicking back and forth much like Frumpkin’s.

Caleb's sunk back into his book when there's suddenly a gasp and hiss in Infernal from Molly. When he looks up Molly's dropped his sewing and has his thumb in his mouth.

" _Fuck_."

The context is completely different. Caleb _knows_ it is, but something about the tone, and the vehemence with which Molly says it sounds like Molly’s voice from his nightmare, and it comes roaring back, pleading with him- ‘ _fuck, just...not in the dark, not again,_ **please** _not again_ ’- and Caleb’s _gone_ , paralyzed with horror at what he’s done, what he allowed himself to do. To do _again_. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t, not again, not for anyone, but all Trent had to do was ask with a smile, and off he went-

“ ** _Caleb_**.”

There’s a sharp crack of pain against his cheek and he gasps, sucking a breath in and blinking. The first thing he registers when his vision clears is purple, washed gold by the firelight. Wide red eyes are watching him intently, and Molly’s hand is still raised from where he’d struck Caleb. “Hey- you here with me, Caleb?”

It isn’t until Caleb goes to answer that he realizes he’s crying, his breath coming in a stuttering gasp, and his hands fly to his mouth, pressing hard in an effort to keep any sound from escaping. Now that he’s paying more attention, he can feel the tears running down his face.

“Caleb?” Molly sounds far less certain than he did a moment ago as he lowers his hand.

Caleb forces himself to calm, to steady his breathing, to pull himself together. There is literally nothing wrong, everything is fine, every _one_ is fine. Reacting like this is absurd.

“I-” he swallows, clears his throat and tries again. “ _Ja_ , Molly, I am- I am here with you.”

Molly breathes a sigh of relief, then raises his hand again, making sure to move slowly so Caleb has time to stop him if he wants before placing his hand gently along Caleb’s jaw.

“What happened, love, are you alright?”

“ _Ja_ , I- I am fine, Mollymauk.” Caleb rubs a hand over his face, wiping the tears away, and Molly catches his hand, giving it a squeeze.

“You don’t _look_ fine. You look like shit. Why aren’t you sleeping? You weren’t slated for watch tonight.”

“I, eh, I have not been sleeping well. Dreams.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He knows Molly means well, only wants to help, but Caleb shudders, already shaking his head no. Even if he were inclined to talk out loud about what he’d seen in his dreams, how could he? Molly doesn’t know, doesn’t know what sort of monster he’s engaged with. Caleb knows he doesn’t deserve Molly’s affection, his care and-

No, he can’t tell him.

“I would rather not.”

Molly’s lips purse, but he doesn’t push, just nods.

“Well, if you change your mind, dear, you know I’m willing to listen, right?”

Caleb nods, not quite ready to talk again, and Molly gives him a pat on the shoulder before disengaging and moving back over to his sewing.

The rest of their watch is quiet, though he catches Molly giving him concerned looks every-so-often.

The sun rises with the new day, and Caleb staggers as he stands from the log he’s been sat on. He’s so tired he feels he could cry, so tired it literally _hurts_ , but he knows he’ll be okay. This isn’t the longest he’s gone without sleep, and this time he even has other people to watch his back. This is, relatively, not so bad.

He just has to make it through the day, make it to camp that night. As long as things remain quiet, everything will be fine. He’s reached a point where he’s too tired to sleep, but too tired to easily focus on anything else. He tries reading, but his vision is blurry, his mind wandering, and after awhile he gives up, putting his book away. He spends his time looking out over the passing fields, letting the voices of the others wash over him. He’s starting to doze off, _finally_ , when a cry goes up, a shout from Beau, and he snaps awake in time to feel the breeze as an arrow zips by his head, and the fight is on.

It’s over pretty quickly, not lasting more than a few minutes, but it feels like an eternity for him. He tries to move from the cart, but he’s moving so _slowly_ , every step taking effort he’s not sure he can afford to expend. It’s as if there are weights on his arms when he lifts them to cast, and it takes so much effort, so much concentration just to get the spells out, to have them form correctly, that he’s not paying attention to anything else, isn’t watching around him like he should be.

The arrow hits his shoulder from behind, the pain sudden and piercing, and though he doesn’t think it hits especially hard, it drives him to his knees. His vision swims, his limbs grow even heavier, and he has a second to wonder if maybe it was poisoned before he’s out, the world going dark around him.

He comes back to consciousness to find Jester’s worried face looming over him, the last of her spell swirling and sparking along his skin.

“ _Caleb_.” She pulls her hands away, but doesn’t go far. “How are you feeling? I healed you up, but...it didn’t feel like it took as much? And you still look kind of awful.”

Caleb winces as he pushes himself up to sitting, Jester reaching out to help him the last little bit. “I am just tired, Jester. It has been a rough few nights. I am sure tonight will be better. Thank you though, for your help.”

She doesn’t look convinced, stays nearby to help steady him as he gets back to his feet.

They regroup, Caleb getting back up into the cart. Molly insists he sit close, pulling him against his side so Caleb can rest his head on Molly’s chest as they move on, and for awhile it’s better. He gets a small nap in, wakes again to the feel of Molly’s fingers in his hair. In his sleep he’s slid down so his head is on Molly’s lap, and he realizes after a moment that Molly’s taken his coat off and spread it over him like a blanket. He knows he should sit up, that they’ll be stopping to make camp soon, but he’s so comfortable, and Molly’s hand feels so good in his hair he can’t be bothered to move just yet.

He drifts awhile longer, not quite awake, and not quite asleep, until Fjord calls out that they’re going to stop as he feels the cart pull off the road and into the grass along the side.

Caleb levers himself up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Molly’s coat sliding down off his shoulder as he does so.

“Hey.”

He looks up to find Molly looking at him, his smile soft as he reaches up to rub at the crease marks on Caleb’s face with his thumb. “How’re you feeling?”

Caleb stretches, grimacing when his back audibly pops. “Better, I think. Not one hundred percent, but better.”

Molly’s eyes crinkle as his smile deepens. “That’s good to hear, dear. We’re stopping for the night. Take your time, and come on out when you’re ready?”

Caleb nods, and Molly leans forward, pressing a quick kiss to Caleb’s hair before he snags his coat and slides off the back of the cart.

Caleb shivers, feeling suddenly cold without the heat of Molly’s body nearby and the warmth of his coat; he pulls his own coat more tightly around himself.

He takes a moment to rest at the edge, dismayed at how draining even the effort of moving across the cart has been. He takes a look around to see the others have set-up mostly underway. The fire pit has already been dug, and Fjord is setting up the little stand for their cook pot. The others are in the treeline, probably searching for firewood.

When he drops off the end to the ground his legs almost buckle under him, but manage to hold. He frowns, but shakes it off, moving unsteadily over towards where the others have put their bedrolls down. He gets his out and unrolls it, settling it between Nott’s and Molly’s. The pull to just lay down right now and sleep is strong, but he ignores it, moving instead to sit near the fire pit with Fjord. He needs to eat before he sleeps; he’s already beyond exhausted, going to bed hungry will only lead to more trouble later on.

He eats mechanically; if someone were to ask him later what he’d eaten, he’d have no idea. He’s barely upright by the time he finishes, and he feels someone take the bowl from his hands as someone else helps him up and steers him towards his bedroll. From the quiet jingling and the soft press of lips to his forehead once he’s lying down, he guesses it’s Molly.

His suspicions are confirmed a moment later when there’s a quiet, “Sleep well, love.” from above him, and then he’s taken away on the tide of slumber.

 

_“I’m not sure we’re going to get much more from him, Bren.”_

_They’re in Trent’s office again, though the furniture is back to where it normally resides. Trent is at his desk, writing something on a piece of parchment, while Bren and the tiefling are in the middle of the room. The tiefling, or what’s left of him, is on his knees, swaying slightly. His eyes looks mostly vacant, and Bren isn’t sure what he sees as he stares off. The straightjacket is gone now, though the creature’s hands are cuffed behind him, his fingers still twitching every so often._

_After a moment Trent finishes writing and sets his quill aside in its holder, folding his hands under his chin and contemplating the tiefling before looking up at Bren._

_“I have everything I need from him. Take him outside and deal with him, please.”_

_Bren nods, reaching forward to grab the thing’s arm, and pulls._

_“Come on, Mauschen. Up.”_

_The creature rises, staggering, but Bren steadies him. He leads the thing out of the office, down the corridor, and outside. He brings him to the packed dirt of the training yard; it’s seen lots of spilled blood already, a little more won’t hurt it._

_“Why don’t you kneel here, Mauschen, have a rest for a moment.”_

_The creature drops to his knees without fuss, and for a moment, Bren thinks this will be easy, will be quick. But then the creature looks up at him, eyes wide and clearer than Bren believed he’d see again._

_“Caleb, please, I’m begging you, you have to wake up.”_

_Bren considers, head tilted to the side. “You keep calling me that. I’ve already told you I’m not him.”_

_The tiefling shifts in place, and Bren hears the jingle of chain from the cuffs. “You are, you just don’t know it. This isn’t you, Caleb, you’re not him, you have to wake up.”_

_“I am nobody but myself, Mauschen. That’s all I need to be.” Bren raises his hand, aims, and sends a fire bolt zipping towards the tiefling. At the last second the creature rolls to the side, taking the blast to the shoulder instead of to the heart as intended. Bren sighs._

_“You are only making this more difficult for yourself, Mauschen. You will only suffer needlessly. Be still.”_

_It’s not a surprise when the tiefling refuses, darting around while Bren takes shots at him. The whole time, even when grunting in pain or gasping for breath, the damnable creature is yelling at him, calling him Caleb and begging him to stop, begging him to wake up. But what is there to wake up from? This is who Bren is, who he has always been, who he will always be._

_There’s nothing to wake up from._

_Finally, the tiefling falls, though he’s not quite finished yet. Bren advances, fire dancing at his blackened fingertips as he approaches. The creature is in far worse shape than he was before, patches of scorched skin littered across his torso, still-smoldering holes burned into his ratty pants. He’s fallen on his back, arms pinned beneath him, chest still heaving for air as Bren steps forward to loom over him._

_“It is better this way, Mauschen, no more suffering. Just close your eyes, it will be over in a moment.”_

_“Caleb, I want you to know I forgive you.” The tiefling’s watching him, intently, far more aware than Bren would have given him credit for a moment ago. “I forgive you, and I’m sorry, but you have to_ wake the fuck up _!”_

_Bren doesn’t know how it happens, but suddenly the tiefling’s hands are free- they must be, because Bren can feel them on his shoulders, and he lifts his arm trying to get a shot off, to finish this, even as he hears Ikithon’s voice in his head._

_‘It is not yet done, Bren. You know what you must do.’_

_It’s mere seconds before he gets his hand up between himself and the tiefling, and has his shot, and even as the tiefling pleads with him, he fires-_

 

A number of things happen simultaneously.

The shot goes off, but when he blinks, he’s no longer on the training field, no longer at Trent’s estate, no longer back _then_. He’s on his back on the ground, can see the campfire off to the side, but he’s so confused, can still feel the hands on him, and when he blinks again, he realizes he can see the hands on him as well, horror starting to fill him as he recognizes the dusky lavender skin, the tattoos washed to black and gray by the dim light. He follows them up, finds familiar peacock feathers, horns, sees the ruby-red eyes looking down at him, tight with pain and worry.

“Caleb, are you awake?”

Caleb has no idea how to answer. He’d thought he _was_ awake, is still stuck halfway in the past, body shaking with adrenaline, and has no idea what’s happening.  
  
“I- I think so?”

“Good. Get up, there’s a thing.” With that, Molly releases his hold on Caleb’s shoulders and rolls off to the side, and as he moves Caleb catches the scorched hole in the shoulder of Molly’s shirt and his stomach turns. Oh gods, he’s hurt Molly, he’s _hurt Molly_ , how could he let himself-

“Caleb, I love you dear, and I know you’re kind of fucked right now-” Molly’s on his feet, his swords drawn and igniting as he draws them across the back of his neck. “But I need you to get your head in the game, we’ve got a situation!” Molly runs forward, and Caleb has no idea what he’s running toward. He tosses his blankets aside, pushes himself up to his hands and knees. He’s shaking, isn’t sure he can stand, but everyone else is yelling, and Molly’s said they need him, so he’ll do what he has to.

He gets to his feet, tries to see what’s happening, but it’s so dark, things a flurry of movement and light from the campfire, and he’s having trouble discerning what’s going on. He stumbles towards the others, fingers clumsy as he digs into his component pouch, waiting to see what will be necessary.

He thinks he sees Jester, but he glances away for a second and when he looks back she’s gone. He does spot Beauregard, though, and makes his way to her.

“What is happening?”

She glances to the side, sees him, and curses. “The _hell_ are you doing over here, Caleb, you’re going to get yourself killed.”

“Molly said you needed me.”

She grunts, eyes going back toward the spot where Caleb thought he’d seen Jester.

“There was a...a _thing_ feeding on you, or doing something to you. Molly was on watch and saw it, heard you making noise in your sleep. He chased it off, but we can’t fucking _hit_ it. Jester’s trying to fix that.”

Caleb’s brows furrow. “How is she trying to-”

Before he can complete the thought there’s a _pop_ and suddenly Jester’s back, her eyes wide.

“You guys I think it worked holy shit get ready, she’s _super_ scary!”

Caleb’s still trying to process what she’s said- was she really speaking that quickly, or was he just having difficulty processing it?- when there’s another _pop_ and suddenly in front of them is...is…

Well he doesn’t rightly know _what_ it is, but it’s horrifying, taller than him by at least a foot or so, its skin a deep, bruised purple, with gnarled horns curling back from the sides of its head. As soon as it appears, it blinks as if in surprise, but then locks eyes on him, and his blood runs cold as it _smiles_ , lifting a clawed hand to point at him.

“I’ll be with you in a moment, deary. Your dreams are so _sweet_ …”

From beside him is a muttered, “Well fuck _that_.” and suddenly Beauregard is moving, darting forward to attack the thing, and combat begins.

Jester keeps blinking in and out of view, and with all the chaos, Caleb’s having difficulty keeping track of where everyone is. He’s terrified he’ll hit one of the others, couldn’t bear it if he hurt any of them (and _more_ of them, his mind whispers at him), and it’s making him hesitate, making him sloppy and he misses more than he hits. He barely has any magic left as it is, mostly cantrips- he hasn’t slept properly in days, knows he’s riding a thin line to burnout, but he can’t let himself stop. These are his friends, he cannot let them down.

Molly whirls into view, his activated blades dragging furrows across the thing, and it shrieks, even as Beau ducks under, laying into it with her fists. The creature backs up, and Caleb sees her hands start to move, one hand grabbing for something, the other making a sign in the air as it hisses in a language that makes his ears hurt, and he’s moving before he can even think about it, hand raised then slashing down through the air, like Frumpkin batting at a piece of string. There’s a flash of light, and then the creature is howling in fury, rounding on him, its eyes narrowing and oh...oh _scheiße._

He stumbles trying to back away as she lunges forward and he trips, going down onto his ass but still scrambling, trying to put distance between them. The thing is still moving, but a blast of green from Fjord smacks into her, catching her attention and she turns to hiss at him, pausing in her pursuit of Caleb. She flicks her hand and he can hear Fjord cry out as something hits him. She turns back, facing him and starts forward again, and while the others are trying to hit her, she’s too quick, Beau’s punches glancing off her, Fjord’s blasts missing, though it looks like a couple of crossbow bolts are sticking out of her. Caleb hasn’t spotted Nott yet, but he’d rather she stay hidden anyway.

He doesn’t see her get close, is distracted trying to account for his friends, but suddenly there she is, looming up over him, and he’s reminded of his dream, an echo of how he’d stood over Molly, unfeelingly preparing to kill him, and this is it. This is how it ends.

She’s raising her hand to cast, and there’s nothing he can do, he’s tapped out; even if he was fast enough, he doesn’t think a fire bolt will cut it. He knows it’s useless, but he brings an arm up to cover his head anyway, a force of habit, but the awaited spell doesn’t happen. He hears a choked gurgle, and when he risks a glance up it’s to see the creature frozen, her eyes wide, and the tip of a sword sticking out through her chest. Behind her, he can just make out the top of Yasha’s head, and he goes dizzy with relief when the thing drops, sliding off the end of Yasha’s blade.

Things quiet a bit after that, Jester patching everyone up. When she gets to him, she has her hands raised, magic already sparkling at her fingertips, but he waves her off.

“I am fine, Jester, there is no need.”

She frowns at him, still trying to reach out and touch him. “Don’t lie, Caleb, you look _terrible_ , it’s okay, really, let me help you.”

He flinches back, pulling out of her reach.

“I was not hit, Jester, I promise you I am okay, please stop.”

Her frown deepens, but the magic fizzles out. “If you weren’t hit, then why do you look so bad?”

Before he can answer, Molly drops down next to him, sweaty, out of breath, but here and alive. Molly looks just as relieved as Caleb feels, framing Caleb’s face with his hands as he looks him over critically.

“You alright? She didn’t touch you did she? Or not once you were awake, anyway?”

“ _Nein_ , I do not believe so.”

Now that things have calmed, Caleb is finding it hard to focus. The feel of Molly’s hands on his face is a balm to his nerves, and he can feel his eyes trying to close, his body trying to shut down, if only for a little while. He thinks he hears some notes of distress in the voices around him, but the only voice he really pays attention to is Molly’s, and his doesn’t seem worried; the deep rumble as he pulls Caleb against his chest is warm, like a blanket, and it isn’t long at all before he _finally_ drops into a deep and dreamless sleep.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Nightmare Haunting** _(1/Day). While on the Ethereal Plane, the hag magically touches a sleeping humanoid on the Material Plane. A protection from evil and good spell cast on the target prevents this contact, as does a magic circle. As long as the contact persists, the target has dreadful visions. If these visions last for at least 1 hour, the target gains no benefit from its rest, and its hit point maximum is reduced by 5 (1d10). If this effect reduces the target's hit point maximum to 0, the target dies, and if the target was evil, its soul is trapped in the hag's soul bag. The reduction to the target's hit point maximum lasts until removed by the greater restoration spell or similar magic._
> 
> _Mauschen_ \- little mouse
> 
> So yeah...Night Hags, amiright? :D
> 
> If you want to yell at me, ask a question, or just say hi, come find me on tumblr at [Analisegrey](http://analisegrey.tumblr.com/) or on twitter at the same handle.


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